


Orbis non sufficit

by theladyscribe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-16
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-25 10:07:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/951833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theladyscribe/pseuds/theladyscribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's loathe to tell his people the mission is accomplished, wants to keep this particular piece of conspiracy for himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She's looking for something. He knows she is, and she probably knows he knows. She's looking for something – she always is – but the difference this time is he actually has it.

It's the final piece of a spectacular puzzle, the answer to a thousand riddles both his people and hers have been trying to solve for years. For once, it will be hard to let her take it from him. To be honest, he's loathe to tell his people the mission is accomplished, wants to keep this particular piece of conspiracy for himself.

It's a pretty piece of machinery. Both a key and a weapon, he got it from a dead man in a house in Portugal. He knows what it unlocks – the man told him – and now he's questioning his people's motives for getting the piece. He wonders if it's too late for him to fall off the grid and the weapon with him. He wonders if that's what the dead man in Portugal tried to do, knowing what the key is capable of doing. He wonders if she knows what it can do, that it can decimate the world in a single moment.

None of that stops him from catching her eye in the café of the hotel where they both are staying. She walks toward him purposefully. "Dean Winchester," she purrs, "we meet again."

He cracks a smile. "Josephine, imagine my surprise."

She reaches for his glass, leaning into him, her breasts pressing against his arm. "Scotch?" she asks.

"Of course." It's a dance they perform often, leading each other on, stepping back and waiting until the other catches up. It's dangerous – just like everything else in this job – but the thrill is too much to ignore.

"You have something I want," Josephine whispers hotly into his ear.

He pulls back. "Yes," he says, looking her in the eye. "You won't get it."

She gives him a wicked smile that usually has him dragging her back to his hotel room. "We'll see about that."


	2. The Hinges of Destiny

That night, he sits in his room alone but for the weapon. He orders room service, doesn't let the wait-staff in. The dinner is delectable, but it sits uneasily in his stomach. He licks the last of the lamb gravy from his fingers, rises, and checks on the weapon. It still lies precisely where he left it.

He knows he needs to make a decision soon; he has been radio silent for forty-eight hours now. His people will come looking for him if he waits much longer, and then there will be no choice to make.

He makes his decision.


	3. The Man Who Knew Too Much

He seeks Josephine out. She's in the lounge, drinking a martini and watching the other clientele with feigned interest. She smiles when she catches sight of him.

"I've been waiting for you to come to your senses," she says as he sits. "Give the weapon to me, and we can have a little celebration tonight. On your tab, of course."

"No celebration tonight, Josephine. I…" He hesitates. "I want to show you something."

She grins at him. "Oh, Dean, don't you remember, I've seen it all."

He leans forward, quietly says, "I need your help." His words wipe the smile from her face.

"What--?"

He stands and offers a hand, playing the part of the gentleman. "Join me for a walk, would you?"

He wants her to accept, wants someone to share this with, because the longer he thinks about it, the more he knows this is it. The end of the line. And he'll either disappear and become the man in Portugal or he'll be dead within the week. Either way, he wants someone to know that he existed once.

Josephine's eyes narrow slightly, but she finishes her drink and takes his hand.

They walk arm-in-arm to the elevator. Dean is the first to break the silence.

"Did they tell you what you would be retrieving?" he asks as he punches the button that will take them to his floor. He says retrieving, but he really means _stealing_. It's one of the many things they trained him to do, to think, when they first brought him in.

"A weapon."

"It's not just a weapon," he warns her.

A tiny bell signals their arrival on his floor. He steps out of the elevator and walks briskly toward his room, eyes and ears alert for any signals that the weapon was compromised in the past twenty minutes. He knows it hasn't, of course, because they're still alive. He pauses outside the door, presses a hand flat against it for a moment before sliding the keycard into the slot.

He opens the door slowly, letting Josephine in behind him.

"Where is it?" she asks, glancing around the sitting room.

He leads her to the French doors that hide the bedroom. "In here." He pushes the doors open, smiling grimly at her gasp.

She covers it well, sniping, "Dean, if you'd wanted a threesome, all you had to do was ask."

He scowls back at her. "You're looking at the weapon, Jo."

Her eyes widen almost comically.

"They didn't tell me either," he confesses, turning back toward the sleeping figure on the bed. It – he – is asleep more than awake. Sometimes he sleeps deep and dreamless, like now, but other times… Dean suppresses a shudder at the memory of those first couple of days, when he had to use tranquilizers or risk exposure. Even when he's awake, he might as well be sleeping; he hasn't said a word to Dean, simply watches him with blank hazel eyes.

"Dean," Josephine says, and it's the first time she's ever sounded unsure in his presence.

"I know." And he does. They were both taught not to question their orders, not to ask about motives, not to wonder. But this. He doesn't know what his people could want with this, this _boy_. If the man in Portugal was right, they can't risk using him, which means they want him for god-knows-what.

He moves back into the other room, sitting heavily on the prim little couch.

"This isn't what I signed up for," he says.

"Didn't really sign up," Josephine reminds him, sitting beside him.

It's true. Dean had thought it was something that only happened in movies, but they were both recruited by anonymous agents they've never seen since. They sometimes laugh at the irony of how very alike their people are, when they're supposed to be mortal enemies. Today, none of that is comforting.

"Jo, I think I want out." He doesn't look at her, keeps his face studiously blank.

"You get out, and the weapon's mine." She doesn't sound happy about the prospect.

He looks back at her. "Come with me."

"What?"

"You and me, and…him." He turns, takes her hands in his. "And we – the three of us – we'll get out, go somewhere safe, where no one can find us."

"Dean." He can hear her worry in her voice.

"Please." He wants her to say yes. Desperate for it. He's willing to fall on his knees and beg, because if he's out and she isn't, it won't make a difference, might even make things worse. If he's out, and she isn't, and he takes the weapon, they're both screwed. Of course, they're both screwed no matter what they do, but at least this way they're together.

Josephine purses her lips, glances back at the bedroom.

"Where will we go?"


End file.
